Total pages in book: 224
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
She stops at a door and swipes her key, reaching for the door handle, and this is where this game becomes mine. She enters the room, and I’m right behind her, letting the door shut behind us, and locking it, ensuring there won’t be any surprise visitors. I scan the open concept room with one bed and a sitting area, and once I ensure we’re alone, I snag her hand and pull her around to face me. That first touch is pure fire, and we both react. One minute, our eyes collide with a punch, the next, my fingers are in her hair, and my mouth is slanting over hers. I lick into her mouth, the taste of her pure anger mixed with a shearing lust, hot enough to make me fuck her right here and now, but the anger, that anger, just can’t be ignored.
I back her into the room, toward the living area, pressing her against the window next to the wall between a desk and an oversized chair, her purse crashing to the floor. “You know my name,” I say. “You know me. We both know you do. Now it’s time to tell me who you are. What’s your name?”
“Pick one. I’ll be her tonight.”
“Oh no, baby. That’s not how this works.”
Her hands plant on my chest, her grip firm. “No name. Take it or leave it. Take me or leave me.”
My lips quirk. “We both know you don’t want me to leave.” I reach for the skirt of her dress and pull it up her legs, my hands settling over the lace of her thigh highs, a choice I approve of one hundred percent. “We both know why I’m here.”
“It’s not about names.”
“Isn’t it?” I challenge. “You hate me, but you want to fuck me.”
“I hate all men right now.”
“And yet you want to fuck me.” My thumb strokes up her inner thigh, back and forth, goosebumps lifting beneath my touch, her body softening with submission, while mine just keeps getting harder and harder.
“For me. Not you.”
“Oh, I assure you, sweetheart,” I say, “that every place I lick you, touch you, and the many ways I plan to fuck you, is very much for us both, or I wouldn’t be here. You know I can get your name from the charity.”
“I bid anonymously.”
I arch a brow at that telling statement. “Is that right?”
“I don’t need credit for the donation. I just need what it makes me feel.”
I turn her to face the wall, forcing her to catch herself with her hands, and I yank her dress all the way up to her hips, my legs shackling her legs, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of the black lace thong before I yank it away. She yelps and I lean in close, holding up the panties. “Something to remember you by,” I say, shoving them into my pocket, my lips at her ear. “Now. Let’s get to what’s important. Your name on your lips and then you on mine. What is your name?”
“Samantha.”
I smack that perfect backside of hers, not hard, but enough to sting. She gasps, and arches forward, right as I slide my hand between her legs and cup her sex. “What are you doing?”
“Punishing your beautiful backside every time you lie to me.” I press my lips to her ear and caress the wet heat of her body. “And apparently making you really fucking wet. What’s your name?”
She laughs this bitter, raspy, aroused laugh, and says, “You’re such an asshole.”
“Name,” I bite out.
“Samantha.”
I smack her backside again and she pants out a breath, her back arching against the sting of her cheek, even as I tease her clit and stroke the seam of her body. “Oh,” she breathes out. “I hate—”
“Name,” I say, “and I’m growing impatient. And you know what happens if you say Samantha.”
“Samantha is my name.”
I smack her cheek, this time hard, and then I turn her to face me, my thighs gripping hers. “I have all night,” I say. “I’ll get your name from you.”
Chapter three
Reid
“What’s your name?” I repeat, holding my emerald princess against the hotel wall.
“Why does my name matter? You aren’t marrying me or taking me home to your family. That’s not what this is.”
My family. No mom and dad, like the saying goes, which could mean nothing, or it could mean that she has intimate knowledge of my life and the fact that my mother is gone. I cup her backside and pull her to me. “What do you know of my family?”
“Just that I don’t want to meet them.”
I lower my lips just above hers. “There’s more to your story and you’re going to tell me,” I say, my mouth closing down on her mouth, my tongue stroking against her tongue in a deep, possessive, hungry kiss that is all demand, and a promise of what is to come. I want her, and I want answers, and I’m going to have both.